The Thirteenth Warrior
by Prander
Summary: This is my rendition of the 'Beowulf' myth, brought to life on Cybertron in an age long forgotten! Hope you enjoy. Thanks for the feedback and reviews and please check out my profile or forum for a personal thank you. :)


_**Cybertron, in an age before the great war...**_

Calthon didn't believe the reports that it would rain. He had been working these fields for sixty two mega-cycles standard and he knew his work. Granted, he wasn't ancestor vintage yet and couldn't rightly say he had a servo for weather, but his experience was enough. For one, the air didn't feel right and it would be some days before saturation picked up enough for rain.

Not that it mattered. Rain was a boon. But a harvester's job never stopped and the fields always needed calibration.

Working field twenty one, sub-sector A, he went down the row of collectors checking the matrix in each cradle and adjusting the dew traps as needed. If anything, tonight the wind would shift to the east. Evening was coming on and he had only fourteen units left to do in this row before his shift ended. Then he would gather with the other harvesters back at the operations shanty and they would compare notes from the day. After a short walk out to the thoroughfare, he could finally transform and head for home. Tonight though, he reckoned he had put in a good days work and fancied stopping off for a beaker of ener-thol as a special treat.

In fact, that was sounding so delectable to him, that Calthon had to blink in surprise when he came to unit thirty eight and found it was no longer there. His hands had reached out for the slender steel framework of the next plant before his eyes registered the shorn stalk and scattered flakes of metal strewn about at his feet. He was so startled, that for a moment he just stood there. Looking left and then right, noting for the first time how his lovely row of carefully tended collectors had a gap in it where the entire unit had been removed.

Frowning now, he came forward and went down on one knee in the fading light, touching the stalk end and smelling something putrid on the end of his fingers. It was like it had been gnawed upon by something. He looked up, wondering if perhaps the rest of the plant was somewhere nearby.

That was when he noted the telltale glow of two large yellow orbs staring back at him from among the other plant-collector units.

The broad leaves of the metal plants exploded into screeching steel and sparks, the sound over-loud and startling to him after a day out among the quietly humming fields. Something charged him, growling, and slammed into him. A hungry sound filled his ears and a wide brutish body blocked out the remaining light. He was still to surprised to be afraid.

But then Calthon heard the sound of crunching, tortured metal, and he realized it was the sound of his own body being torn apart by massive jaws.

It was then that he finally remembered to scream.

**Grendal**

"Are you the one they call Bolovi?"

Groggy, his head buzzing, Pulsar looked up from where he sat crossed legged at the thick titanium feasting table and he had to blink a few times for the citizen standing next to him to swim into focus.

"Who are you?" He growled. The youth went to speak, but Pulsar swiped an angry hand at him. The youth jumped back easily enough and this only inflamed Pulsar's unreasoning besotted temper.

"Get out of here, data-pusher! This is a feast for warriors!" He snarled, his words a drunken slur.

"I come from Iacon. I have been instructed to seek out the one called Bolovi. I assure you I meant no offense."

Pulsar pushed away from the table and reeled up to his feet. The long belts of solid round ammunition strung across his chest rattled like beads.

"Well you damned sure _gave_ offense, rust spot!" He pulled back a massive armored fist and took an unsteady step towards the young transformer from the capital city. By now, half the feasting tent was watching and the other drunken warriors present burst into laughter at their staggering comrade and the younger messenger backing away from him.

The youth ducked Pulsar's second punch as easily as the first and the drunken warrior crashed into a lit brazier, knocking it over and and up ending the flickering energon coals. He cough and batted at the air, staggering around in the pungent blue smoke and crunching the coals underfoot. They popped hard with a burst of static and this made the drunk Pulsar literally dance in place for a moment. His friends lining the table roared with laughter, slapping their hands down and jeering at him.

"I don't wish to fight you!" The youth called out to Pulsar, casting a glance and the tough looking and weathered warriors watching his plight. He wore the red and blue of a capital city messenger and had been naive enough to come into the Cybertronian hinterlands with such a paint scheme showing for all to see. Out here in the wilds, there was little use for any such bureaucrat. Some were even flat out hostile towards him.

Like this apparent warrior, thick armored and massive, who lurched back up out of the smoke of his own mess and aimed another punch at him. The youth moved easily aside again and Pulsar's ill timed punch carried him forward three stumbling steps before he stopped himself. His visored eyes blazed with anger now and his right hand suddenly transformed into a thick spiked ball as he spun back around.

The youth might have been in dire straights but fortunately the mood of the watching warriors changed instantly. They booed their comrade and threw food and cups at him, arguing loudly that he would flail about and knock the tent down again.

The youth knew better than to argue that they seemed to care more for the tent poles that held up the structure around them, than their worry for him.

"That's enough now. Sit him down and let _that_ one come forward." A deep, powerful voice carried out from down the table and immediately two other thralls hopped up and bundled Pulsar back to his spot. The drunken warrior seemed to have forgotten the youth completely when a full cup of blen-mead was passed to him. He transformed his weapon away and was soon drinking deep. The youth breathed a little more easily and turned towards the speaker, shrouded in low lights at the head of the massive table and sitting in a high back chair on a raised dais, flanked by his captains and nobles.

They were not so quite as drunk as their warriors, and they looked up grim and sullen at the youth as he came forward.

"My name is..."

"When we want to know your name, we will ask you." The speaker said and the young transformer could see the warriors knees now, jutting out from where he sat. His white and gold paint scheme was in stark contrast to the appearance of the other rough individuals present. And the youngster remembered his mentor instructing him that the one name Bolovi would be marked so. He tried to get a better look back among the shadows yet the massive warrior seemed to deliberately sit back from the light. He drummed his steel fingers on the armrest of his ornate seat.

"Among us, names are allowed only to those who deserve them, little clerk." he said mildly.

To his credit, the young Transformer remained silent. He didn't bluster, or blush or demand. And he didn't cower either. He could see now the glitter of deep blue eyes from the shadows as they appraised him quietly.

"But then you knew that already, didn't you?" The voice said. "Studied up on the Hinterlands before they sent you out here as an envoy?"

There was no sense in denying it.

"Yes." he answered.

"Was is it required reading, then?"

"I sought out the knowledge myself."

"Out of respect?" One eye gleamed in the dark, arching an eyebrow.

"I felt it prudent to prepare myself for my duties as thoroughly as possible, but this too was my hope." the youth replied.

A rust colored, older warrior grunted cryptically from where he sat on the other side of the table. He had thick layers of chain strung across his back with several blasters and edged weapons tucked into it. His armor was much weathered, pitted and patched. He turned to look up at his leader, the steel wool of his beard bristling in disgust.

"He speaks well...but it smacks of flattery. Typical of one from the Capital!" he growled.

"What do you say to that, little clerk?" the leader turned his glowing eyes back to the youngster.

"I do not think flattery could easily be said of a unit such as yourself." the youth had the sand to address the older warrior himself and the one called Bolovi barked out a laugh from his throne.

"Hah! He steers between truth and insult quite well oiled."

"Such manners are to be found in those from the Iacon!" The older transformer spat. Bolovi raised up his hand in a placating manner, still looking at the new arrival.

The older warrior glowered but said nothing further, muttering as he raised his flagon to his lips.

"So..." Bolovi began. "The powers that be at Iacon have deigned to send me a message, have they?" Slowly the larger transformer stood up from his chair and stepped down off the raised dais. He carried a flagon of drink himself, taking his time, and came forward into the light more fully. The revels around him didn't lessen, and this bothered him not at all. He wasn't vain, just self-assured, but his eyes did twinkle with amusement at how the smaller bot in front of him couldn't hide a touch of awe at his unexpected size. Still, the lad stared back at him levelly, his back straight and his manner respectful, even now.

"And I wonder what this message could be? Hmm?" Bolovi put one hand on his hip and took a sip of his mead.

The youth reached for his belt and took out a small bright blue data crystal.

"I was briefed of the message's context, though in no great detail. I was to focus more on it's delivery."

"You didn't read it?" Bolovi lowered his drink.

"Such was not my place."

Bolovi hadn't even glanced at the crystal. He look down and swirled his drink around in his cup, his lips a tight line across his face. At a loss, the youth glanced at the crystal held out in his hand himself, only now lowering it slightly.

Bolovi looked up at him, raising his eyes only.

"Is there...some protocol I have over-looked?" the youth asked.

"No. You've acted properly." Bolovi again took another sip.

"Then I do not understand why you do not take delivery of the crystal. My mission was urgent."

"Would _you_ want to be handed your fate on a platter, stripling?" An old voice cackled out from behind the young messenger, broken and dry. Only now did the many other transformers present in the feasting tent lower their voices. The whole gathering's attention was riveted on the arrival of the speaker. The young clerk turned to behold a wizened and ancient old crone had come into the tent, hunched over a short steel cane and layered in many folds of black carbon fiber. She smelled of charcoal and ozone. Two small servants had parted the tent flaps for her, their faces sculpted like ancient steel cherubs, and now they followed only to twitter and hiss and her feet. The clerk was startled momentarily, stepping back a pace but still holding the data crystal out in his hand. Bolovi's mouth curled at the corners, liking the youth for his stoic determination in the face of such strange circumstances.

The crone seemed to recognize it to and she cackled again as she drew up to the Chieftain and his guest. Her cane tapped on the temper-steel ground with a wicked click of command and her two servants began to record what was taking place on scrolls of yellowed paper.

"This one has merit! Iacon chose well it's messenger." She turned to leer at the tall strong youth next to her. "Have some back-bone, do you?" she made a half hearted move to poke him with her cane.

"Madam." The young transformer answered respectfully, without flinching from her.

"This is Kitala. She is our oracle." Bolovi added quietly.

She turned to her Chieftain.

"Why do you wait, Bolovi? Do you feel the chill of the void in this youngsters hand? Or do you again know what the message contains before old Kitala can cast her gears?" Her eye had a twinkle and Bolovi said nothing, returning her stare with a tolerant smile.

"You do well to admire this young one his bearing. It's not in him to judge superstitious warriors of the Cybertronian Hinterlands. So!" A hand, withered and rusted, shot out from under her robes and snatched the crystal from the young clerk. A palatable silence settled over the tent then and to the youth's surprise, Kitala's hand worked the data crystal as if it were a bauble, causing it to blaze with light as it downloaded it's message into her spark. She raised her head, unseeing, as her mouth and two sunken eyes glowed with a bright blue light, downloading the crystal by archaic means that the young clerk had never seen before.

"Aaaahhhh." She wheezed a little, trembling. Her face, calm though weathered before, twisted suddenly as if she could see specters in the light no other transformer present could.

Her face turned to Bolovi, her eyes and mouth still aglow. The massive warrior looked back at her with surprising grimace on his face. The youth waited, hardly daring to move, his own eyes wide and clear as if he was uncertain to be afraid or in awe.

"Old bones. Old hunger." She croaked. "Teeth in the dark. Death for our kind, heralding a greater death for all! What was lost will be found only to loose all in fire!" Kitala screeched suddenly. Then with a shuddering gasp, she opened her hand and let the data crystal fall to the ground with a clink, the light fading from it. The old crone seemed to sag as if she was collapsing. The young clerk made to catch her but Bolovi put out a hand onto his arm and stopped him.

The oracle was not falling, she was swooning, dropping her head low and swinging it back and forth under the deep hood of her robes that fell about her face. She was chanting softly, her voice dryer than ever and from under her robes she suddenly raised high a steel gourd and rattled it's contents.

"A quest! A great undertaking! One only a great warrior can face!" And she up-ended the gourd. Engraved and scrimshawed nuts and bolts clattered out along with other charms and trinkets and the two servants at her feet chattered in raised voices, their ink stained quills in their mechanical arms blurring over the paper to capture the moment.

Kitala cackled, but the young clerk could hear the slight tremor to it. Then she raised her head and her cane high, turning it to point directly at Bolovi. She spoke something, in a language the young clerk had never believed he would hear canted in such a place. Language he had only read about and heard spoken once before.

It was ancient Cybertronian. The Cold-tongue it was called. For it was no longer spoken openly and rarely remembered and heralded back from a time of legend when Cybertron was cooling from it's creation in eons past. It had been a time of giants and myth, when seas of energon washed up on steel shores under raging storms of static and the planet was primordial and untamed.

Some myths were real.

To his shock, the young transformer heard Bolovi reply in the same tongue and Kitala bent to lift up a golden cog and pass it to him.

"Ita comen veritus mit." he said, his face bereft of expression.

"Viy! Trans-fortum en encorum one!" Kitala called loudly. Once the cog was in Bolovi's hand, she continued the rirtual, apparently calling out for a second warrior to come forward.

The tent all around the young clerk began to murmur and he turned to see that all the assembled people were taking up a slow chant, drumming their cups against the table or their hands against a thigh. A mood of great excitement built up quickly then, as one after the other, warriors, for reasons lost to the clerk from the Iacon, stood up and declared themselves to be the next to receive one of Kitala's charms.

Pulsar was among then, much sober now. As was the old warrior of chain. The count went on.

Each one, as he came forward, was greeted by greater and yet greater acclaim and the youth stood quietly, taking this all in. By now the entire assemblage was worked up, clapping their hands and roaring out some battle cry of the Hinterlands, when Kitala jabbed her cane high at the ceiling and cried out so loudly, the youth started and turned back to her.

Only to find she was staring directly at him.

Slowly, trance like, she lowered her cane down until it pointed directly at his chest, and at a loss he looked from it, to her, and back to Bolovi.

"Thirteen." She croaked, then she shook a little from soundlessly laughter, staring at the clerk from Iacon with flashing eyes. She dropped her cane and gave the small dull data crystal a flick towards him where it lay at her feet.

Everyone was staring at him. The were waiting for something. He looked down at the crystal and back up to Bolovi, who seemed almost sombre as he stepped forward.

"We are called upon to face a great evil. One of legend." he explained.

He paused for a moment and then bent down to pick up the data crystal himself, turning to the clerk.

"Thirteen of us will go." He said mildly. The clerk noticed that the one named Pulsar was giving him a bemused grin from his place among the eleven standing next to Bolovi. He turned back to look at the great Chieftain, who simply took the clerk's wrist and turned his palm upward.

"I do not understand." the youth replied. Bolovi answered him by placing the now empty data crystal in his hand.

"The thirteenth warrior...is you."

_**To be continued...**_


End file.
